


Addiction

by nanuk_dain



Series: Impossible Relationships [4]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Language, M/M, Ray's dirty mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray realises some things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addiction

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/000be3gq)   


 

It was like an addiction. Even worse than his need for Ripped Fuel.

Much worse.

Ray leaned his head against the wheel of the Humvee and screwed his eyes shut. It had been a stupid idea, really. Seemed he was prone to stupid ideas at the moment, especially when it concerned the Doc. What the _hell_ had he been thinking? Feeling the Doc up under the pretence of a massage was so incredibly stupid that it blew the one-to-ten scale by about a hundred.

First of all, it was the _Doc_ – the grumpiest, most deadly corpsman there was. You didn't mess with the Doc. Nobody did, not even the dumbest Marine in the whole battalion. Apart from Ray, of course. He was even dumber than the dumbest Marine, then. He had honestly thought that it was a _good idea_ to realise his personal recon mission by passing his hands all over the Doc and see how he'd react.

What worried Ray most was his _own_ reaction, though. He just had to close his eyes for a moment and he remembered what the Doc had felt like under his hands, remembered the hardness of his muscles, remembered every moment when his fingers had passed over bare skin that had been warm to his touch. He also remembered the way the Doc had leaned into his hands, remembered those dark, low, delicious noises he'd made. Every single one of them had sent shivers down Ray's back, had caused goosebumps all over his body. Ray had been careful to keep a certain distance between the hard evidence for his body's reaction to those sounds and the Doc when they'd been sitting on the hood of the old truck.

The worst, the _absolute worst_ , though, was that Ray wanted to feel it again. Maybe he had to rethink the whole gay thing. But then, maybe not. 'Doc-o-phile' just sounded better, and this _thing_ was definitely exclusive to Doc Bryan.

Timothy.

Tim.

Hmm, that name sounded good in his mind. He withstood the temptation to say it out aloud, because there was no way in hell he could gloss _that_ over should anybody hear him. It was tempting nevertheless. Not that he had any right to use the Doc's first name. He'd never been offered – no surprise here, considering that his relationship with the corpsman was only a few days old. They weren't exactly friends. They weren't even team-mates. Maybe 'relationship' wasn't the entirely correct word. 'Mutual stalking' was more like it. The Doc stared – or glared – at Ray, Ray watched the Doc. Like some kind of silent agreement.

The shit really hit the fan after Poke had shared his musings about the power of the mind and getting off without even touching yourself. At the time, Ray had thought it was a load of bullshit. He should have known better. If he'd thought that his obsession with watching the Doc had already been bad before, he was taught that it could always get worse. It was as if his eyes had a life of their own and didn't listen to his brain at all. Ray had the feeling he'd developed some kind of sixth sense that was focussed entirely on the Doc – _Tim_ – because he always just _knew_ when the corpsman was around. He knew even _before_ he looked, and that was downright creepy.

Add to that Poke's great musings on the power of the imagination and Ray's mind really taking to the idea, and his dreams became pure torture. They were vivid and real in a way Ray had never experienced before, and the worst was that they weren't about pussy. Not at all. Not one pussy in the whole wide dreamscape of his. Instead, there was Tim.

 _A lot_ of him. In very _inspiring_ positions. With and without his gear.

After the first of those dreams, Ray had to admit that maybe Poke's theory wasn't entirely bullshit. Okay, so maybe Ray hadn't come from the dream, but he was honest enough to admit – at least to himself – that it had been close call. One touch of the real Tim and he would have been a goner. Even if it had just been a kick to his head – and wasn't _that_ pathetic?

Ray was glad when they were back on the road again. Right before they moved out, he looked inside the brown plastic bottle he kept in the middle compartment and frowned. He was running out of Ripped Fuel, and he knew there was no way to restock. He'd have to ration it, because the war wasn't over yet and he had to keep going. Without Ripped Fuel, he would go down due to exhaustion at some point sooner or later. Still, he had to admit that he was actually relieved that the time he spend asleep was reduced to half-hour-naps here and there. Even _his_ mind didn't get the dreams going in half an hour of dozing. Lucky him, because there was no way the others wouldn't have noticed what was going on had he been 'graced' with a hot Doc-dream while they were piled up next to each other in the Humvee.

What made matters worse, though, was that he got more and more visual input to feed his dreams. Tim being on the same platoon meant that Ray saw him a lot. Okay, okay, so _maybe_ he was specifically looking for him. And all the while, Ray couldn't help noticing for the umpteenth time that Tim looked smoking hot with his M-4 at the ready. He was the kind of kick-ass warrior corpsman that you heard stories about, but rarely ever met. He was just as perfect with a gun as he was with a stethoscope. At the road block at Al Hayy, when Ray had ample time to watch, he did, although he knew it wasn't good for his peace of mind.

Okay, maybe he was a bit gay for the Doc. Just a tiny bit.

Ray sighed. Right now, he could really use some of the weed they'd found in the hamlet earlier that day. Pity Brad was so bound on being decent and not destroying the Haji's livelihood. As if one little pack would have made such a big difference for them. It _really_ could have helped Ray out here. And some other guys, too. Wasn't as if he was greedy or anything, he would have shared. Maybe that's why Brad hadn't let him take it. A whole platoon of Marines high on local weed and they would all behave like Trombley. Probably there wouldn't be much left of the platoon afterwards. Or of this whole goddamn country.

Ray snorted to himself, amused by the idea of Captain America on weed. He wondered if that guy could actually get any worse than he already was. Probably not. The Doc on weed would be interesting, though, Ray thought with a rather dirty smirk. Maybe he'd participate in the realisation of some of Ray's dreams, then. Ray had several things he'd like to try.

Before Ray could spend any more time musing on his little obsession with the corpsman, The Epic Clusterfuck of Muwaffaqiyah happened. Ray had capitalised it in his mind because he just couldn't believe the stupidity of it all. He didn't even find the words to rant about it, there just were no words for such incompetence. The worst was the roadblock and Walt shooting civilians and losing all his cheer. It was enough to keep Ray's mind occupied, but there was still this _awareness_ of the Doc, and Ray found himself looking when he felt that Tim was around. It was his own way of finding a moment of positive energy in all this shit, because seeing Tim, even if only for a moment and all bunched up in his gear and his usual frown firmly in place, made Ray feel better. He couldn't say why, didn't have the time or the nerve to think about it, he just took it for the good thing it was. You didn't question the few good things that kept you going, not when at war. So Ray didn't.

The night after they'd arrived in the POG camp, Ray dared to really sleep for the first time in days. There was enough distance between him and the person sleeping next to him – Walt in this case – that he allowed himself to indulge in sleep. The dreams came, just like he'd known they would. For once, he embraced them, enjoyed every moment of the Tim-induced hotness that his mind came up with, and he decided he could learn a thing or two from his own imagination. The next morning, when Walt woke him with a smirk on his lips and a mischievous gleam in his eyes, Ray knew some of what he'd dreamt about must have showed. He really hoped he hadn't talked in his sleep or groaned suspiciously male names. Like 'Tim'.

“Slept well?” Walt asked, his smirk deepening, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Ray was incredibly grateful for it, because he really didn't think he could have come up with any excuses about dreams full of tight pussy. Not after the things his mind had just shown him. Tim was definitely not pussy. No doubt about that. Ray grinned as the last memories of his dreams passed in front of his mind's eye, then he got up to find some breakfast.

It was sometime later that he saw Brad run through the field, arms raised as if he was pretending to be a plane. A rather strangely coloured plane. Ray stopped next to the Reporter who watched Brad with a puzzled expression.

“What did you do to him?” Ray asked, honestly surprised at Brad's sudden display of insanity.

Rolling Stone shrugged. “Just asked him what he would be if he wasn't a marine.”

Ray's gaze followed Brad, who was running in a long semi-circle through the high grass. Only a moment later, his eyes landed on Tim, who was standing on the opposite side of the field, watching Brad with a bemused frown. It was interesting how many different frowns Tim had, Ray thought. The Reporter's question was still fresh in his mind while his gaze lingered on the Doc. What would _Ray_ do if he wasn't a Marine? Right now? He'd grab Tim and jump him. Right here in front of everybody. Screw DADT. And then screw Tim. Or let Tim screw him, he hadn't entirely decided on that matter yet. Maybe just do both. Not at the same time, though, that would be physically impossible.

As if he was feeling Ray's eyes on him, Tim turned his head and caught Ray's gaze, the half-smirk half-frown expression still on his face. Ray felt a shiver run down his spine, icy and hot at the same time – and don't ask him how _that_ was physically possible – and all the images left over from his fading dream came crashing down on him. He had to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat and licked his lips in a gesture that was as much nervous as it was hungry. He felt heat in his cheeks and was slightly troubled at the possibility that he was _blushing_.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

When Brad came to his senses and told Ray to get the team together, Ray had never in his life been so grateful to be ordered to move. The Doc was still looking at him when Ray turned to leave, and Ray was hyperaware of the goosebumps that spread all over his body.

Ray was relieved when the order came through that they would move north to Baqubah. He was glad to get out of the POG camp and be back in the game, but more than anything, he was glad to be out of the Doc's intense gaze. Ray felt as if it burned him, and he was worried that Tim had actually been able to read on his face what Ray had thought right before he'd turned. That Tim _knew_. It would be worse than a worst case scenario. Ray resolutely banned all thought of it as soon as they crossed the magic line. There were more pressing matters to take care of right now. He pulled the bottle of Ripped Fuel out of the middle compartment and downed the last few pills. It would have to do.

It was the next day, when they were on their way back south, shortly before Baghdad, that Ray felt the effects of the Ripped Fuel wear off and exhaustion take over. His limbs felt heavy and he was so tired that he could have fallen asleep on his feet. He was infinitely glad they'd stopped some time ago, and he was sitting on the ground, leaning with his back against the Humvee, when he saw the Doc walk over to him. His gaze was focussed on Ray, passing over him as if checking his status without asking a question or checking his vitals. The Doc stopped close to Ray, then he squatted down right next to him, a frown on his face. Ray wasn't even surprised anymore that he could easily recognise it as Tim's concerned frown. He'd become good at reading Tim.

“You need to sleep.” The Doc said without beating around the bush, his voice very quiet. “Allow yourself a moment of rest, Ray.”

Ray looked up, finding Tim's worried gaze directed at him. It wasn't the Doc's concern that had surprised him, it was that the corpsman had used his first name. He'd never done that before. Not once.

“I can't.” Ray replied after a moment that had lasted too long, and he couldn't say if it was due to surprise or exhaustion. “I'm the driver.”

“Hasser is good on the wheel, Ray, and you need to recharge. Do it as long as you still can.” Tim's gaze was intense, and although Ray wanted to turn away, he didn't. “There won't be much rest once we arrive in Baghdad.”

“Walt doesn't have the experience with the Humvee.” Ray tried to object, although he knew the Doc was right.

“Your experience isn't worth jack once you fall asleep on the wheel.” Now there was a tense note to Tim's voice, and his frown shifted from worried to annoyed. “I know you don't have any Ripped Fuel left. Your body is at the end of its rope, Ray. Don't push it when it's not necessary.”

Ray didn't reply to that, partly because there wasn't anything to say, and partly because he was still focussed on the way his name sounded coming from Tim. He liked it, it felt even better than when dream-Tim had said it.

“Trust your team. They will cover for you.” Tim's hand came to rest on Ray's shoulder and squeezed. His gaze was locked with Ray's, intense and dark and real. “Get some sleep, Ray.”

Ray wanted to close his eyes and lean into the comforting touch on his shoulder, but with one final squeeze, Tim got up and left. Ray remained where he was, let his head fall back to rest against the tyre, and stared off in the distance. Some metres away, he could see Walt looking out over the street. Ray took a deep breath, then he heaved himself off the ground and walked up to him. He stopped next to him, then he bumped his shoulder against Walt's. “Hey Walt. You mind driving?”

Walt turned to look at him, surprise in his gaze, then he grinned. “Not at all. Actually, I'd love to.”

Ray returned the grin and felt relief spread through his entire body. He was so exhausted that he began to doze off as soon as he sat in the back seat, Trombley on the gun, Walt at the wheel. Tim had been right, Ray thought while he drifted off. His team hadn't hesitated one second to cover for him.

Before sleep took over, Ray wondered if Tim was going to be in his dreams again.


End file.
